Let the 104th Hunger Games Begin!
by HilaryDroxursox
Summary: Totally AU. What if the revolution had been lost? The Hunger Games would have continued, right? This story is from the POV of Iris Mellark,  the daughter of Peeta and Katniss  and she might just end up in the middle of the most exciting Hunger Games yet.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Totally AU. What if the revolution had been lost? The Hunger Games would have continued, right? This story is from the POV of Iris Mellark, (the daughter of Peeta and Katniss) and she might just end up in the middle of the most exciting Hunger Games yet. **

**Just a little background info: Everything is left as it was at the end of Mockingjay, except that the revolution was lost, so Snow is still president. District 12 was re-built, and Haymitch and Katniss' mom didn't move to another district. She works in the new District 12 hospital. Peeta and Katniss got married by own will, but were forced to have children.**

* * *

><p><em>Zing!<em> I can hear the arrow whiz through the air. It hits the squirrel in the neck. I run over to go pick it up. "Dang it," I mutter, pulling the arrow from the corpse's neck. Ever since I had begun hunting, over a year ago now, I had been trying to hit my victims in the eye. But let's face it; I'll never be as good a shot as my mother.

I throw the squirrel into my bag and run off toward the Ramington's house. When I get to the little home, a conventional Seam household, I rap on the door. Hunter answers. Hunter's been my best friend since the second grade. I always feel safe with him, and he knows everything about me.

"Hey," he says. I simply hand him the bag full of game. Hunter's family was originally from town, but when his father died from a heart attack, the jewelry business they ran went into ruins. They moved into this Seam house, and they often had a hard time getting food. I made sure that Hunter and all of his little siblings never had to sign up for tesserae by bringing them game twice a week.

Now, I follow Hunter inside to his kitchen. He dumps the contents of the bag onto the counter. "It all looks great, Ri," he says. I give a halfhearted smile. Every year around the time of the reaping, I get really uncomfortable around people. I don't know what does it; maybe I just can't bear to think about what will happen if I'm not around to feed Hunter every week. He sees the disheveled look on my face and pulls me into a hug. I sniffle. No tears are falling, but Hunter's wiping at my cheeks like there are.

"You'll be okay," he tells me, stroking my hair.

"I won't," I reply.

"If they do rig the reaping, you still have a chance. You've got your mother's survival skills. You could win, Iris."

"No, Hunter. They'll make sure I die." I pull away and push the blonde hair out of his eyes. There's nothing romantic between us, but I _do_ love him more than anyone else in the world. Love him like a friend, that is. He smiles sadly and touches my cheek.

"I have to go," I mutter, turning toward the door.

"See you at reaping."

When I finally arrive home, I turn the corner from the foyer into the kitchen and take a step back, startled to see both my parents there. They stare at me. My father with sad blue eyes, and my mother with angry silver ones.

"Were you out in the woods?" Mom asks. I shake the dirt out of my hair, but don't answer. She knows very well that I was in the woods. "That's illegal."

"What does it matter?" I spit out. "My reaping will probaby be rigged this year. I'll be dead. They can't punish someone who's dead." My mother sets her jaw and leaves the room. The slam of the bedroom door upstairs signifies that I've gone overboard. Even if my mother didn't want a child, she doesn't want to see me die. My father looks incredibly torn between following my mother and staying here to talk to me. He finally picks up the broom and dustpan and begins to sweep the grime that had fallen out of my hair.

"I didn't mean to make her mad," I say, pulling out one of the bar stools and sitting down. My dad empties the dustpan into the trash.

"I know," he says, and leans against the counter across from me. My father and I have always been really close. I don't have his skill with words, and I most certainly have my mother's temper, but my dad truly understands me. I know he'll love me unconditionally for as long as he lives. After all, he was the one who wanted a child in the first place.

After a long silence, he adds, "She just worries about you, Iris." I nod.

"But I'm as good as dead, anyway," I whisper. I feel my bottom lip tremble, and my father opens his arms. I stand and walk into them. He pulls me tightly to him. "They say the first reaping is the hardest, but it just seems to get worse every year," I whimper, tears falling down my cheeks.

"I know, sweetheart. They may decide not to pull you, though. Then you'd be safe at home with us for another year."

"I just kind of want to get my death over with." He hugs me tighter and kisses the top of my head.

"Remember that no matter what, your mother and I love you very much." Dad releases me. "Now go shower."

I turn the knob in the shower to "cold" and let the icy water run over me. It was scorching hot out in the woods, and the coolness of the shower is refreshing. I get out and throw on some clothes. I don't wear anything special to reaping like everyone else does. I don't see the point in dressing up to prepare to face my death.

I walk to the town square alone; my mother and father had to go early to take their places on the stage. I take my place in the 15 year old girl section and glace up at the stage. My mother clings to my father's arm, and a half-sober looking Haymitch sits next to them. He's getting up there in years, but his drinking still hasn't ceased. I catch my mother's gaze and hold it for a moment. In that spilt second, I realize that she loves me much more than I could ever imagine. The fear in her eerie silver eyes gave it all away.

I stare off into space while the mayor speaks, and then our escort is introduced. Her name is Lydia Trescott. Her skin and hair color are fake, like most people from the capitol. She bounces over to the bucket of girls's names and draws one. I hold my breath. Maybe they _did_ decide to spare me another year of life. Wait until I get older and then surprise every one. Maybe they'll wait until I'm 18, my last year of reaping, and then pull my name.

"Iris Mellark," Lydia reads. Or maybe they just want to get my death out of the way now, while I'm still young. I walk up to the stage with slow, steady steps. There's no one who'll volunteer for me. I know that already.

"And now for the boys," Lydia chirps. She bounces her way over to the other side of the stage. I look out to the 16 year old boys and find Hunter. He looks at me, hazel eyes completely horrified. What we hear next intensifies that fear we both share by 100%.

"Hunter Ramington." They've put me with my best friend.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I don't know who's reading this, so I'll go ahead and introduce myself. I'm Lucy, and I mostly hang out in the Lizzie McGuire section of fanfiction. But, I am also a big fan of the Hunger Games, and I've been planning this story for a while now. I'm excited to finally get the first chapter up! I know it was short (my chapters are usually longer, trust me) but I figured that this is a good spot to stop for today. Suspense. Yeah…**

**Anyway, please review! :) I take criticism well, but flames will be used to burn down Snow's mansion. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I know I said that Mockingjay still happened, but for the sake of the story, pretend that Katniss had one child, not two.**

* * *

><p>My stomach drops to my feet. For a moment, Hunter just stands there, shocked. I feel my knees start to buckle, and I reach out for something to hold onto for support. Soon, my father's at my side, holding me up. I regain my balance rather quickly, and he takes his seat, a look of pure sadness hardening his face. I look down at Hunter. His younger brother James is clinging onto his arm, and they're arguing. If I weren't in such aguish, it would be rather amusing, the two of them standing there pushing each other back into the crowd and volunteering for each other over and over again.<p>

"I volunteer!" James shouts. Poor James. Only 13 years old. He can't go into the games. He wouldn't stand a chance. Then again, neither does Hunter. He doesn't have much muscle, or any survival skills for that matter.

"No, James! Go sit down!" Hunter says, walking up to the stage. James grabs his arm again, and the argument continues.

"Order!" Lydia shouts. Her voice is so high and screechy, that everyone turns their attention back to her. "Now, who is the boy tribute?" Hunter pushes James back one final time and finishes climbing the steps to the stage. "Very well. How about a round of applause for our tributes?" No one claps. The town square is dead silent. Lydia claps a few times herself, then turns to us and tells Hunter and me to shake hands. We do, but all I can focus on is the look in his eyes. _He's scared,_ I think. I squeeze his hand in what is meant to be a reassuring gesture, but I don't think he picks up on it.

I'm hurried off the stage to a room with velvet couches. I sit down. This is probably the very couch that my mother sat on 30 something years ago. 32 years ago, was it? I don't remember.

I trace patterns on the soft fabric, waiting for someone to come visit me. Hunter would come to visit me, of course, but he's locked away in his own velvet room, probably talking to his parents. My parents won't come to me now because they'll be on the train with us. Suddenly, the door opens, and James and Mrs. Ramington come in. I clear my throat.

"Hi," I say, trying to smile. I fail at it. I can tell by the looks on their faces. Depression, fear, and anger all mixed into one.

"Hello, Iris," Mrs. Ramington whispers. She and James sit down on the couch across the room from mine. Silence.

I think I'm about to explode because of the quiet when I blurt out, "Hunter shouldn't be here." James looks at the ground. He knows the reaping was rigged. They just had to make it exciting by not only picking the daughter of two victors, but also her best friend. It's no secret to anyone that Hunter and I are close.

"He wants to protect you," James says.

"He can't, though. The game makers are going to set up some freak accident if I don't die in the bloodbath at the cornucopia."

"You could have a little more confidence." I glance to Mrs. Ramington. Her fingers are just as intrigued by the velvet as mine were. Velvet is expensive, and even though my parents can afford it, we never have any use for it. It does feel nice, though.

"I can't win," I say, my voice small. "I know I can't. But Hunter has a chance."

"No. He doesn't."

"What?"

"If he wins, what life will there be for him back here? You'll be gone. The only person that truly understands him and loves him unconditionally. And the victors are celebrities. There would be nothing worthwhile to watch on television if Hunter won. He would just be another person, slowly going insane because of the games."

"Insane?" I ask.

"Everyone watched your parents go insane. They know it happens. The capitol just keeps trying to brainwash everyone. Hunter won't win."

I know he's right, but that doesn't stop my anger at his lack of confidence. This is his brother we're talking about for Pete's sake. "_You_ could also have a little more confidence, James."

Mrs. Ramington speaks up, now. "Kids! Let's not end this visit with fighting! It may be the last time we ever get to see each other." James sighs and gets to his feet. He holds out his arms, and I hug him.

"One of you has to win, Ri. One of you needs to prove the capitol wrong," he whispers. I nod and pull away.

I hug Mrs. Ramington, and then they leave. I throw myself back onto the couch. An unexpected visitor comes in, then. My teacher. She smiles at me. She must be used to students coming and going because of the Games by now. She sits down next to me and takes my hand.

"You're strong, Iris," she says. "You could win." This is the first time I've ever questioned my teacher's intelligence. Any smart person knows how unfair my reaping was. Even though James wants me or Hunter to win, and he told me to try, he knows it's nearly impossible. Maybe my teacher's just trying to make me feel better.

"Thank you," I reply. She pulls her hand away from mine and looks me straight in the eye.

"Now, do you have a token?" She looks so excited. What for, I wonder.

I shrug. I honestly haven't put much thought into what I'm going to wear into the arena. In fact, that's been the furthest thing from my mind.

"I have something for you," she says. She then pulls something out of her pocket. It's the ugliest charm bracelet I've ever seen. I smile at her anyway, though, because I know she's just trying to be kind.

"Thank you." I take the bracelet and fasten it onto my right wrist.

"Will you consider wearing it?"

"Yes, I'll consider it." She hugs me, then, and turns to go, not saying another word. I take the bracelet off and stuff it under a couch cushion.

Soon, I'm taken from the velvety room and pushed into a car. This is another foreign thing to me. No one in District 12 has a car. Not even any of the past victors. At the train station, I try to smile for the cameras. That's what I've always been taught to do, after all. "Smile!" and "Say cheese!" are the only comments I've ever heard around a camera. But I sense that these are different. As I slowly realize that they are only trying to invade my privacy; that they are excited about me being sent off to my death; I harden my face and walk straight to the train.

I'm in the part of the train that serves as a living room. I've been on trains like this before, seeing as my parents are mentors, and we're not close enough friends with anyone to ask them to care for me. Except for perhaps the Ramingtons, but we've never even considered given them another mouth to feed. So, I've gone to the capitol every year. This means that the elegance of the train is no shock to me, but I know it will be to Hunter; he's never been on a train at all.

I seat myself on a couch in front of a big TV and wait for Hunter. He comes soon enough, and I run to him. He still looks frightened, and he reacts to everything slowly, as if in a daze. I put my hands on his cheeks, but jerk them away. They're as cold as ice.

I feel like crying about our situation, but I know that Hunter needs me now. He needs my comfort. Maybe he'll be ready to comfort me later, but now it's my turn to take care of him. I hug him tightly, and then lead him over to a couch.

"Hunter?" I ask. He stares at me for a moment, and then answers.

"Yes?" I look right into his gorgeous hazel eyes. They've always been lit up with joy, but now they're clouded over and sad.

"I'm going to keep you alive," I say, before I even realize that the thought had entered my mind. I'm going to keep him alive? There's no hope for either of us, and I'll most likely die before him. Why am I making promises I can't keep. Hunter doesn't respond. If I were him, I wouldn't know what to say, either.

Finally, my parents get on the train. I don't go running to my father like I want to. I can't have his affection anymore. He is nothing more than my mentor, now. My dad thumps Hunter on the back, and then pats my back, as well. My mom stands by the door. She's been numbed to this whole experience, now; watching kids go off and die in the Hunger Games. She's been watching the Games her whole life (40 some years) and she's been a mentor in them for a while now. My dad is always the affectionate one towards the tributes. He still sees them as humans going off to their deaths, while my mother just appears to see this whole thing as an unjust reality TV show.

"Hey, kids. Ready for dinner?" My father asks, leading us to the dining room portion of the train. Two Avoxes stand at attention by the table. My mother brushes off their offers for help, and serves herself. Hunter, my father, and I let them fill our plates to full capacity. Hunter eats quickly. He hasn't had enough to eat since his father died 10 years ago, even with the game I bring him. My mother and father try to help out the Ramingtons as much as possible, but the capitol would freak out if they knew. The rich are supposed to be rich, and the poor are supposed to be poor. Period. No charity allowed.

I go straight to my room after dinner and flop down onto the bed. _Cry,_ I tell myself. _Things often look better after you cry a little._ No tears come, though. Perhaps I take more after my mother than my father. My mother says she didn't cry after she got reaped, but my father says he cried a lot. He was scared. Terrified, even. My mom just looked at the situation and did what she had to to stay alive. I try and analyze the situation, try to come up with a strategy for the games, but I can't. My mind stays absolutely blank. I hear a faint knock at my door.

"Come in," I call. My mother opens the door and steps in. She sits down on the bed next to me. "Where's Dad?" I ask. My mother's eyes turn to me.

"Talking to Hunter." Suddenly, I feel five years old. When I was five, I could run to my mother and she would solve any problem for me. She promised to always keep my safe. But this is something she can't solve. As my mentor, she can try to keep my safe in the arena, but she's powerless against the capitol. If they want me dead, they'll kill me.

Desperate for comfort, for the awful thoughts to leave my mind, I whisper, "Mommy." My mother seems to come alive. She takes me into her arms and rocks me. Finally, tears come. Maybe I'm not like my mother.

"Sweetheart," she says, stroking my hair. I pull back and look at her. She wipes the tears from my cheeks, but it's no use; my blue eyes just keep leaking more. We just stare at each other. We're almost identical, except for our eyes. My eye color is pretty much the only thing I inherited from my dad. "I know you're scared," she continues. "But you'll be okay." I can see tears in her eyes, but I know that she's trying to be strong for my sake.

"Mom, I'm going off to die. I'm not going to be okay."

"Death is better than some things."

"Like what?"

"Sometimes, I think that death ought to be better than living. Life is hard sometimes."

"Do you ever miss Aunt Prim?" My mom narrows her eyes slightly. She doesn't like to talk about her sister.

"Yes. Terribly."

"I don't want you to miss me when I'm gone. I want you to be happy."

"Have I ever told you why I didn't want to have kids?" I glance around the room, hoping my mother's reason will be suitable for capitol ears. I don't know if we're being recorded. However, my mom seems unconcerned, so I shake my head, wanting to hear more.

"I never wanted to have kids, because I didn't want them to have to go through the fear Prim and I felt every year. I didn't want my child to have to go through the Games like I did."

"Then why did you have me? It's not like Daddy would have forced you to."

"Well, he always wanted a child. He was so good with kids. And, the capitol wanted us to have kids, too."

"Are you sorry that Trey was never born?" I wait for her answer. She doesn't like to talk about this subject, either.

"Sort of. But, like I said, death has to be better than living." Just after my third birthday, my mother got pregnant again. She had a miscarriage, and my father was devastated. They've never had another child, however. I wonder if they've ever tried. That thought makes me feel sick, (who in their right mind likes to think of their parents having sex?) and I crinkle my nose slightly.

"Did the capitol want you to have more kids after Trey died?" I dare to ask.

"Yes…"

"Why didn't you, then?"

"Never felt right. I didn't want another kid. I told the capitol that we were…trying, though, just to keep them away from us. I guess they had just figured I lost my fertility." She shrugged. This whole conversation was starting to make me uncomfortable.

"Well, I'm glad that you're my mom, though." She hugs me again.

"And I'm very glad that you're my daughter. No matter how much I didn't want you at first." We both laugh like this is some big joke. My mom gets up and goes to the door. "Be at breakfast by 7:30 tomorrow. We have a long day ahead of us."

"Okay." I know from years of watching the Hunger Games, that the opening ceremony falls the night after the reaping. The reaping. I'm glad my mother didn't make me watch the replay.

I crawl under the covers. Tomorrow I would get to meet my prep team; the silly group of people my mother describes to me as "idiots with good intentions." I roll my eyes. That's just what I need. To spend the last days of my life with a group of idiots.

I look around the room. Shadows fall here and there, making creepy shapes on the floor, ceiling, and all the walls. I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight. I'm just starting to feel the fear I've been expecting all day. Soon, however, sleep overcomes me, and I slip into unconsciousness.

All too soon, I feel myself being jerked awake by a pair of warm hands. My prep team. Fantastic.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yay! A review! Thanks! ^.^**

**How about all of you who added this to your alert list take a second and review this for me? I'd like to know what you think! :)**

**I'm sorry this wasn't up sooner, but I was in Oregon for a concert. At least it's up! I usually take a week or so to post something new…**


	3. Chapter 3

I don't think it's possible for them to find anything else. I mean, they've already stripped every hair off of my body, trimmed and polished my nails, and they did my hair and makeup. But still they parade around me, running their eyes up and down over me. I have to push away the very overwhelming urge to cover my naked body. _Just a few more minutes,_ I tell myself. _Then they'll be gone and I get to meet my stylist._

"Well," Victoria says, rolling her eyes. "I think this is the best we can do." Victoria is very unfriendly, and sports that capitol look. The only thing natural about her was her blonde hair, which she's wearing up in a bun.

"Yes," agrees Gannon. He's got orange hair and neon yellow eyes. Although his looks are the scariest, he's definitely the friendliest member of my prep team. And perhaps the most intelligent. The rest of them just seem like a bunch of blubbering idiots.

"I'll go get the stylist," Victoria says, leaving the room. The rest of the prep team slinks out the door behind her.

I pull the thin robe I was given around myself. It's embarrassing, standing there naked while complete strangers stare at you.

There's a knock at the door, and my stylist comes in. I sigh inwardly, relieved that she's a female. This will make the process a lot less humiliating.

"Hello," she says, and I'm surprised at how…natural her voice is. No bubbly capitol accent. Was she raised outside of the capitol? In a district?

"Hi." I force a smile. She's very pretty, really, my stylist. She has long, wavy black hair, and brown eyes. She's got a great figure; curvy but not fat. She's obviously always had enough to eat.

"I'm Crystal. I'll be your stylist until you go into the games."

"Where are you from?" I blurt out. I smack my hand across my mouth. My mother's always told me not to ask prying questions. Crystal laughs.

"I'm from District 3 originally, but my father was the mayor. He retired, and we were allowed to move to the capitol when I was three. I never quite picked up the accent, I guess." She shrugs. I nod. "Would you take your robe off, please?"

I grimace, but obey. Crystal takes a quick look at me and hands me a garment bag.

"What kind of costume is it?" I ask.

"You'll see," Crystal replies, setting a pair of shoes next to the bed. "But it'll be good. I promise. We've got to live up to your parents' legacy, don't we?"

Surely, Crystal must be too young to have watched my parents' Hunger Games live, but she's obviously heard of them…and seen their costumes from the Opening Ceremony. My parents aren't mentioned much in school, because the capitol makes it very clear that they don't want to remember the rebellion my mother started. Thanks to my mother, the capitol almost lost that war.

"I guess so," I say.

"Get dressed," Crystal replies, leaving the room to give me privacy.

I pull the outfit out of its bag, and slip it on. It's an ugly thing, really. A plain black dress. A low-cut black dress. A _very _low-cut black dress. Staring at myself in the mirror, I feel almost naked. The neckline of the dress goes down almost to my belly-button, but it's narrow enough so that it doesn't show much of my breasts. That, at least, is a relief.

Looking more closely at the dress, I notice that there are some gems scattered around on it. They're clear, but the light catches them every once in a while, and they sparkle. I scoff. Is this Crystal's sad attempt at a fire dress?

I step into the black books that Crystal left behind. They're uncomfortable. I hope that I get better shoes to wear into the arena. Crystal knocks at the door, but doesn't wait for a reply.

"Oh, you look gorgeous!" she says, clearly proud of her work. I smile half-heartedly. "Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes, I love it. You did a wonderful job." I say. Crystal beams.

"Your mother, father, and Hunter are going to eat dinner. You can go if you're very careful to not spill anything on your dress." I nod and head to the dining room.

"Hi, guys," I say casually, ignoring the feeling of embarrassment creeping up inside me. The neckline may be narrow, but it still feels like I'm not wearing a top.

My mother's eyes open up wide. My father doesn't look up from his plate, but does mutter a "hi, Iris." My mother smacks his arm, and he finally looks at me. He chokes. My mother rubs his back as he coughs and splutters.

Hunter takes this opportunity to look up at me. He turns red, and he instantly looks away, as if he's afraid he'll be violating me if he looks at me.

I sigh and sit down next to Hunter. I can feel myself blush as my parents stare at me from across the table. "What?" I ask.

"I'll let you handle this," Mom tells Dad, and she goes back to picking at the lamb stew on her plate. I help myself to some of the lamb stew that's left, and wait for my dad to start talking.

"Iris," he says, setting down his fork gently.

"Yes, Dad?"

"Your dress…it's a little…revealing." Hunter gives a small laugh. I send him a death glare. He obviously doesn't find my dress to be embarrassing anymore. He finds this whole conversation amusing.

"I guess so."

"A little _too _revealing, Ri."

"Like I had anything to do with this? You know better than anyone that you don't get to pick your outfits."

"Yes, I understand. I just don't know if I want you portrayed like this on national television." I blush harder, thinking about men all over the country gawking at me and my revealing outfit right before I get shipped off to my death.

"Then go talk to my stylist. It's too late to get another outfit, though," I say. My dad sighs.

"Peeta," my mom says gently, taking his hand and squeezing it. "Go talk to her stylist. Please." My dad seems to be considering it. He knows I'm right; it's too late to make another outfit. But he'll do anything for my mom, and he excuses himself from the table to go find Crystal.

As soon as he's gone, Hunter decides he can't control himself any longer. He bursts out laughing. I slug him hard on the arm.

"Iris!" My mother yells. She's not a fan of violence.

"Well, look at him!" I shriek, suddenly angry. Angry with everyone. Angry with Crystal for creating such a dress for a 15 year old, mad at my mother and father for ever allowing me to be born, and mad at Hunter for laughing at my predicament. "Look at him in his nice, black suit! He's not half naked!"

"Men can take off their shirts, Ri," Hunter says gently, rubbing my back. He still has a mocking smirk on his face, though.

Just then, my father walks back in, holding something orange. He holds it up. It's a kami, one of those things that women in the capitol wear when their shirts are low cut. I smile and sigh, relieved. My father holds it out to me and tells me to go put it on. He hands something to Hunter as well, and I see that it's an orange tie. We'll match.

All too soon, we're at the chariot. My dad helps me up, and I help Hunter up. My parents blow kisses.

"Iris," Hunter whispers as out chariot starts moving. I look at him. I hate publicity. I hate being watched by lots of people. I've always been a sort of celebrity back in District 12, because of my parents, and Hunter knows I hate it. My celebrity meter is about to go up by 100%. I won't just be watched by my neighbors back home, I'll be watched by all of Panem.

"You'll be okay," Hunter finishes.

"I love you, Hunter." I say. I then realize how that sounds. "As a…friend, I mean."

"I know." He smiles. "I love you, too."

Everyone's cheering now, and we offer them a few waves. I can barely see the other tributes, but judging by what I can see, their outfits look amazing. I feel a little jealous, despite myself. Jealousy isn't in my nature.

All of a sudden, the crowd starts gasping. I look up at the giant screen to see what has them all excited. The camera's on us. There's a little flame starting at the bottom of our chariot. Hunter looks at the screen, too. Then his eyes are on me.

"Was this planned? Is it fake fire?" he asks.

"I don't think so," I whisper. The flame is getting bigger, eating its way up the chariot. I glance back up at the screen. The cameras have gone behind the scenes, now, and my parents' faces are on the screen. My father looks shocked, and my mother…terrified. If my mother's scared, there's got to be something wrong. My mother's always the brave one.

"No, this wasn't planned, and it's not fake," I say hastily, completely sure now.

"We've got to get out of here." Hunter says, taking my hand. I look down. It's a long way to the ground, and the fact that the chariot's still moving makes it even more dangerous. "We jump on three?" I nod, thinking that Hunter thinks that his escape plan will be entirely too easy. But what choice do I have?

"One," Hunter says, "two, three!" He jumps, but I lose the grip on his hand. He lands on the ground and looks back up at me. "Come on, Iris!" he screams. I can feel the heat from the fire now. I move closer to the edge, planning to dive down and catch up with Hunter, but suddenly, I'm engulfed in flames. I can feel it blistering and burning my skin. The last thing I hear before I black out is Hunter's cry of distress. And they called my mom the "Girl on Fire"? Well, I really am on fire.

**A/N: Short and kind of boring. Sorry. I've had major writer's block, and I needed a filler chapter, anyway. Review, please! :)**


End file.
